


Ignition

by AlexinBrum



Category: EastEnders
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexinBrum/pseuds/AlexinBrum
Summary: Syed has a revelation. Is it too late to fix things?
Relationships: Chryed - Relationship
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was loosely based on upcoming spoilers, but I changed the order of the ONS and The Kiss because, basically, I didn't want to write about Amira! Also, contrary to the spoiler clip, Christian is not in the Vic to witness it, so this starts just as Amira has tried to kiss Syed.

'What do you think you're doing?' cried Syed in horror, and he fled from the Vic, desperate for air. But once he'd bolted through the door and taken a couple of calming gasps, he was struck with the realisation that he had nowhere to go, no-one to turn to. Tam was in hospital, Tanya was sick, Janine was in mourning, Jane and Roxy were definitely off-limits, he no longer worked at the salon and the mosque was miles away. He needed space to think. Could he risk going home? He glanced over at his parents' front door. If he could make it up to his room unseen it would be fine, but what if they were in? The last thing he needed right now was one of his mother's interrogations.

While he was still considering whether to risk it, another door in his eye line opened. Christian's front door. Great. Christian would see at a glance that something was wrong and he wouldn't be able to lie. Any conversation would inevitably end with a smug and humiliating 'I told you so' - as unhelpful as his mother's 'She is your wife, Syed.'

Just as Syed was beginning to think that heading back inside the pub to face Amira was the least intolerable of his options, he realised it wasn't Christian, but another man, a strange man, leaving the flat.

In an instant, Syed went from trying to escape to being rooted to the spot. His blood pounded in his ears and a wave of nausea rose from his stomach. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the smiling stranger that Christian was escorting to the door. A quick peck on the lips, a smile, and the stranger was gone, leaving Christian to close the door and disappear back into the flat. There was absolutely no question what they'd just been up to in there. Inside the flat that Christian had, until very recently, shared with Syed. The flat they had decorated together. The flat they'd discussed wedding plans in. The flat they'd moved to in order to raise a family. It was just wrong.

And suddenly Syed realised that everything - absolutely everything - was wrong. It wasn't just Christian picking up strangers. It wasn't just Amira trying to kiss him. He was launching a souvenir business - what the hell was that all about? And moving to Pakistan - why on earth would he want to do that? He was living back with his parents while Christian, the love of his life, was just yards away sleeping with other men. The whole world was upside down and back to front and he was hopelessly trapped, dazed and confused, in the eye of a storm of total wrongness.

And then, out of the whirl of revelations, arose an unexpected memory. A memory from his childhood of a TV programme about a teenager in Japan who broke the world record for the number of dominoes toppled. This kid spent weeks setting up thousands of dominoes in his school gym. They were all different colours and sizes and were arranged in myriads of incredibly intricate patterns. Some went over bridges, some set off fireworks, some recreated famous paintings as they fell. Tam and Shabs had been amazed and immediately wanted to try it themselves, lining up all kinds of household objects then pushing the first to see how they would fall. But Syed just remembered feeling puzzled. He couldn't see the wonder because he couldn't get over the sheer pointlessness of it all - spending weeks preparing so painstakingly for something that, with one small tap, fell apart in less than three minutes. He just couldn't understand how that young boy could do that, spend all that time building something that he knew wouldn't last, setting things up just to knock them down. Syed wanted to scream at the TV, shake the boy, tell him to stop playing with dominoes and get a life.

And then Syed was back in the present and it had all become ridiculously clear. Of course everything felt wrong - everything in his life was just a line of dominoes, one after another, leading nowhere. Suddenly he could see what a waste of time it had all been, making plans for the sake of making plans. Suddenly he realised it had to stop, and he was the only one who could stop it. He was going to topple every last stupid pointless domino. Starting right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Christian was sitting on the sofa, flicking idly through a magazine. He'd changed the bedding, washed up the two glasses, put the whisky away and taken a much needed shower. He felt low, slow and lazy, telling himself it was a hangover, but knowing it was more than that. When the intercom buzzed he felt a mixture of annoyance and relief. Annoyance, because making idle conversation with anyone would require more effort than he was willing to give. Relief, because he was running out of things to distract him from admitting that he was utterly miserable.

With a sigh he slouched over to the intercom.

'Hello?'

'Hi, Christian it's me.'

Syed. Great. Just what he needed to make him feel even more shit than he did already. What he really hated was that every time he heard his voice he still felt a tiny spark of happiness and hope. And when that got trampled on, which it inevitably did, it hurt like hell. Christian's reply was cold, hard and defensive.

'What do you want, Sy?'

'Buzz me in Christian, or I promise you, I will kick the door down.'

He didn't sound angry or aggressive, but there was a steely determination in his voice that Christian hadn't heard before. He pressed the buzzer and, as he opened the door to the flat, Syed strode in, carrying a large box with a bulging holdall balanced precariously on top.

'That's the first lot. I'll bring the rest over when I've had a bit more time to pack.'

'What is all this?'

'I'm moving back in. I should never have moved out in the first place.'

'And you're expecting me find somewhere else now? Without any notice? I don't think so!'

'No, you're not going anywhere. You're staying right here until we've sorted this whole mess out. Now take this,' he swung the bag into Christian's hands, 'and put it away - you know where it all goes. I presume Jane's been sleeping in the spare room? If not, she will be from now on.'

Christian flung down the bag angrily. 'Look, I don't know what you're playing at but...'

Placing the box on the floor, Syed spoke with absolute certainty. 'I'm not playing at anything. No more games, no more dishonesty, no more distractions - it all ends right now.'

Prickling with anger, Christian was in no mood for this. 'Games? Dishonesty? I'm not the closet queen, parading round with my wife, showing off my daughter and my wedding ring.'

While he spoke, Syed started casually unpacking the box, putting his stuff back into all the drawers and cupboards around the flat. Christian found this absolutely infuriating.

'You're right. I've been dishonest - with investors, with Amira and, worst of all, with myself. The truth is that what I really want is a life with you, but you took that option away the day you walked out. So instead I tried to build a new life on what was left, hoping that if I pretended to like it for long enough that I might start to feel it. Well, I'm not pretending any longer. I love you. What I really want is you and me. Together. And it's what you want too, so I'm making it happen.'

'What I want? How dare you assume you know what I want? Have you forgotten why I left? Or were you too wrapped up in your perfect little family to see how unhappy I was? I don't want to be lied to, ignored and made to feel like an outsider in my own home. I want to be around people who actually make me feel good about myself.' And now he was moving all Christian's ornaments to make space for his own. So annoying!

"What, like that guy last night? Did he make you feel good?'

'Yeah, he did.' Christian hurled triumphantly. 'All that time with you, kidding myself that I could make a relationship work, trying to be something I'm not. I can finally get out there and enjoy being a free agent again.'

There was a pause as Christian savoured his victory. But Syed faced him and delivered a reply with such force and conviction it hit Christian like a punch to the stomach.

'Liar!'

Christian's victorious smirk faded in an instant as he realised that Syed was absolutely right. He was putting on just as much of a front as Syed. Syed had gone back into the sham marriage, he's gone back to drinking and sleeping around - they were both pretending to be OK, and they were both utterly miserable.

Seeing Christian's face fall, Syed continued, still with certainty, but softer, kinder.

'I know you, Christian, and you're certainly not feeling good about your life. You're feeling empty and lost because you don't actually want one long party punctuated with meaningless sex any more than I want to run a family business in Pakistan. You want commitment, a family, and to wake up every day in the arms of the person you love. And so do I. So let's stop wasting time and just get on with it.'

Christian could feel his defences crumbling, but he struggled to maintain his armour, reminding himself of the night he'd left, all those painful weeks ago.

He adopted a tone of smug authority. 'I think you're forgetting that it was me who ended this relationship. You can't just walk back in here and decide that it's back on.'

'Well that's exactly what I am doing, so deal with it.'

OK, so that didn't go so well. Next he tried an imploring tone. 'Sy, there were reasons I left. It wasn't working.'

'Then we'll try harder to make it work.'

'But it's not just about us. What about Amira? Your parents? Yasmin?' Christian was aware he was now starting to sound like a toddler having a tantrum.

'I don't know, Christian. I haven't got all the answers. But we'll work them out together.'

Christian couldn't keep up the fight. He flopped on the sofa and held his aching head in his hands. 'It's just not that simple.' he sighed. And then, quieter, 'I wish it was.'

Syed put down the CDs he was holding and sat down next Christian, taking his hand and entwining their fingers.

'It can be. If we choose it to be.'

Christian looked at him sadly. 'It can't be. Not while you're still married to her. There are three of us in this relationship, four if you count Yasmin, and someone has to be the odd one out. I left when I realised I was the gooseberry.'

Syed was still so determined, so certain. 'You're wrong. I know who I want to be with, and it's not Amira. I only got in touch with her so I could get a divorce and marry you - that was always the plan.'

'Yeah, a plan you abandoned as soon as you knew about Yasmin.'

'That's not true. I didn't abandon it, but I did put it on hold. I thought getting proper access to Yasmin, for both of us, was more important.'

'Well you were wrong.'

'Fine. I was wrong. I get it. Number one priority - divorce. Sorted.'

'But it's not though, is it? In fact, you're even more of a cosy, respectable husband-and-wife team than you ever were. You'll never put me first over all that.'

'I did before, and I'll do it again.'

'Yasmin will always come first. And then her mother. And then her grandmother, and her grandfather, and her uncle. And then waaaaay down at the end of the list, some totally unrelated guy who might be allowed to see her once in a while.'

'You're wrong.'

'Prove it.'

'How, exactly? Tell me what I can do to prove that you come first and I'll do it.'

'Divorce her.'

'Fine. I'll call the solicitor tomorrow and...

'Today.'

'That's just ridiculous. It's not actually legally possible.'

'I don't mean the legal bit. Just signing the papers. If you get your divorce papers signed and in the post by the end of the day, I might just start to believe that we have a future.'

'Why today? Why the rush?'

'Why not today? Why put it off?'

It was a stand-off, but Syed could feel he was close, so close to winning Christian round. He couldn't do anything to risk losing him again. He had no choice.

'Fine. I'll have the divorce papers in the post tonight. And in return, you promise to stay here and give it one more shot. No walking out until we've talked things through. Properly. Promise?'

Christian looked at Syed, searching for signs of doubt. He couldn't see any.

Syed looked at Christian, steadfast and unwavering. 'Come on Christian,' he silently prayed, 'don't give up on us now.'

At last Christian conceded. 'OK. You sort the divorce today and I'll give us one last chance.'

Syed's face lit up with a joy that melted Christian's heart. 'I'll be back as soon as it's done. Don't you dare go anywhere. And finish that unpacking!'

He bounded purposefully out of the flat, leaving Christian sitting alone on the sofa once more, just as he had been when the buzzer sounded. Christian looked down at the now half empty box and the bag full of clothes. He wanted so much to believe in Syed, but he'd been let down so many times before. In a couple of hours Syed would come back with an excuse, a reason to delay, a plea for more time. And then his heart would break because it would finally be over. He poured himself a large whisky and settled down to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

It had got dark and there was still no word from Syed. Christian was not used to hanging about the flat without anything to do, and he felt like a caged animal - bored and restless, but with an undercurrent of nervous anticipation, which made it impossible to focus on anything. He'd tried reading, doing his accounts, even sending a few emails, but he couldn't concentrate and repeatedly found himself staring into space, wondering what conversations were, or weren't, happening in the Masood house.

Normally, if he didn't have anything to do, he would go out instead, usually to do something that involved one of the numerous possible combinations of Roxy, Jane, drinking and dancing. But he couldn't leave the flat. Not yet. He'd said today, and that meant midnight. He glanced anxiously at the clock. 10.28pm. Just over an hour and a half. He was already making excuses for Syed in his head - if he came back explaining that he'd been at the hospital, or that Amira was away for the day, or that he couldn't find a pen that worked Christian knew he'd probably relent and give him one more day. But silence he just couldn't forgive. After an ultimatum like that, if he just didn't show up, well that said everything. There'd be no coming back from that.

Another forty minutes and everything in the flat was meticulously clean and tidy. Even the CDs were alphabetised - all except Syed's. He'd put those back in the box Syed had brought over earlier. He just couldn't allow himself to hope, although he knew he couldn't stop himself either. He desperately needed a distraction and looked around the spotless flat for inspiration. There was nothing else for it - he'd have to clean the oven.

Minutes later, cleaning products clunking round his ears while he searched for the oven cleaner, he thought he heard his phone buzz. But he couldn't be sure - he'd imagined he'd heard it so many times that evening, only to see the empty screen and realise, with renewed disappointment, that it had just been a car outside or next door's radio. But he still had to check. Pulling off the rubber gloves, he extracted himself from chemicals and and scourers and picked his phone off the sofa. His heart stopped - finally, a text from Syed.

'Sorry, it got more complicated than I thought. Meet me in the square.'

Oh for fuck's sake! Could this man be any worse at communication? It was either done or it wasn't. It's like he had a degree in Ambiguity. Trying to keep a lid on his frustration, Christian grabbed his jacket and headed out.

Syed was standing in the middle of the gardens, hands behind his back and his face plastered with a massively cheesy grin. Could he really have done it? Christian fought hard to suppress the hope, but it started to bubble up nevertheless.

'Well?'

'She signed. It's over. Look.'

Christian's stomach lurched. He still couldn't believe it. He needed to see it.

'Oi, be careful!' laughed Syed, as Christian snatched at the papers, 'I'm not going through all that again.'

'All what?' asked Christian, as he scanned the text, searching for the signature he so desperately wanted to see.

'Well, to cut a long story short, Amira took rather a lot of persuasion.' Syed hesitated. 'I had to call Qadim.'

'You did what?'

'I had to Christian. It was the only way. It all got a bit intense, but the important thing is it's sorted now. She signed.'

And there was that stupid grin again, and Christian felt his own mouth begin to return it. A crack was forming in his armour, just a tiny one, but it was being forced slowly wider and wider by the pressure of the overwhelming love behind it, fighting to free itself after being kept chained in the dark for so long.

Syed produced a large envelope from behind his back, already stamped and addressed to the solicitor.

'Would you like to do the honours?'

Hands shaking, Christian took one last look at the signatures, then pushed the papers carefully into the envelope and sealed it, making sure it was securely fastened, no room for 'lost in the post'.

Syed grabbed his hand and they ran together, giggling, over to the post box. They each held one corner and slid the envelope in together. It was finally over.

There was a moment of stillness and silence, each lost in their own thoughts, trying and failing to fully appreciate what this meant. No more sham marriage - the first domino had fallen. The rest would topple easily from now on.

Syed turned to Christian, his eyes shining with hope and expectation, his hair curling gently in the same chill breeze that made the leaves dance around their feet. Christian felt his heart soar with love for this man, this remarkable man, who many months ago had left his family and community behind so the two of them could be together. This morning they had barely been speaking, yet once again he had risked everything, including access to his own daughter, for a chance to save their relationship. All the love that Christian had been holding back, trying to ignore, drowning in alcohol and masking with anger burst out of it's lonely prison and took his breath away.

Syed sensed the change in him and stepped in closer, warily taking Christian's hand. Christian held on tight, and Syed's courage grew.

'So, I've done my part. What about you, Clarkey? Are you going to stick to your end of the bargain? Fancy giving us another go?'

'It's not going to be easy. There's still stuff we need to sort out.'

'I know. But I meant what I said earlier. We'll sort it out together.'

Christian's hand found Syed's cheek, his thumb playing fondly across the familiar stubble.

Syed had been right. It was as simple as they wanted it to be.

Their lips found each other's, but not before Christian's had murmured, 'Yeah, we will.'


	4. Chapter 4

Syed lay in bed, deep in sleep. Christian contemplated the curves and angles of his back, just visible in the early morning gloom. He listened to his slow, regular breaths and abandoned himself to the swell of love which filled his heart. But it was no good. Something was broken and he didn't know how to fix it. The love he felt - and he did still feel it, there was no question about that - was no longer boundless. It was constrained by barbed-wire coils of hurt and anger which cut so deep he was beginning to despair of them ever healing. And it was always there, hovering over every aspect of their relationship like a malevolent reminder of their painful separation. They no longer just held hands, they held on tight, as if frightened to let go. Where they had previously lain comfortably entwined on the sofa, they now clung to each other, conscious of the fragility of it all. Their sentences fell tentatively, each determined not to risk wounding the other, while sex had gone the other way - it had become rougher, less tender, an expression of their repressed need to punish and hurt each other. Christian felt a chilling wave of panic accompany the thought that perhaps it couldn't be fixed. Perhaps this time they'd gone too far, cut each other too deeply. Maybe he'd been right to leave and the mistake had been in coming back. If they couldn't find a way to forgive each other, then it would be better to end it now, before their love curdled into bitterness and resentment. Yet as he gazed down fondly on the man slumbering next to him, the man who had turned his heart inside out and his world upside down, he couldn't imagine ever finding the strength to let him go.

Syed stirred, stretched and turned over. Glancing up at Christian he threw a husky 'Morning gorgeous.' towards his face with a smile. But his smile quickly became a frown.

'You're crying.'

Christian silently pushed a wayward lock of hair from Syed's forehead and ran his fingers down his cheek.

'About us?'

It was the conversation Syed had been avoiding, hoping that the cracks would heal themselves before it became necessary. But they hadn't, and here it was, crashing like a freight train towards the brittle shell they'd built around their relationship. He couldn't hide from it any longer.

Christian nodded sadly.

'I don't know what to do', he said. 'I love you so much. I really do. But I'm just so angry, all the time, and I don't know how to get past it.'

'I know.' Syed sat up and leant back against the headboard, 'Me too. And I hate it. I want to be able to let it go, to forget it like all the other stupid rows we've had, but... I dunno... I just can't this time.'

They sat there, in the semi-darkness, shoulders touching but each inside their own head, desperately trying to find a way through the confusing jungle of feelings, memories and fears they found themselves in. There was a question that needed to be asked but they were both too frighted to hear the answer. Finally Syed put it out there, his voice low and tentative.

'Do you want to end it?'

'No.' Christian's answer was too loud, came too quickly, straight from his heart rather than his head, but it was the truth. 'Do you?'

'No.' There was absolutely certainty. The tension lifted by the smallest fraction and their hands reached out, fingers wrapping around fingers in relief. It wasn't over. Not yet.

Eventually Syed broke the silence.

'What I don't get is why this time it's different. We've both said and done some really hurtful stuff before but just made up and moved on. I know you love me, I know why you did what you did and I know you're sorry. So why am I still so angry with you?'

'I dunno babe. Maybe this time sorry isn't enough. Maybe this time isn't just about this time. Maybe it's about all those other times when we didn't really sort anything out. We've swept stuff under the carpet for too long and there's no more room. Maybe the only way to deal with it is to have a really good spring clean.'

Syed snorted. 'Nice metaphor.'

Christian grinned. 'I liked it.'

They nestled closer together.

'Well you're the neat freak, Clarkey. How do you go about spring cleaning a relationship? What do we do now?'

Christian glanced at the clock. 'Right now - nothing, I'm afraid. I've got a client in twenty minutes. What time do you have to be at the restaurant?'

'Not til ten, so the shower's all yours. But we will talk more later, won't we?'

'Definitely.' They pressed their lips together, both begging for it to feel different, but there it was again - that underlying sadness. Nothing had changed. They released each other's hands reluctantly, afraid to break the connection. Always afraid. Always sad. Always trying too hard.

But something had changed. Over the years, Syed had developed an amazing capacity for ignoring problems, hoping they'd go away and carrying on regardless. But when the problem grew too big to ignore, once he was forced to acknowledge it, he acted with a steely determination and didn't let anything stand in his way. And now they'd acknowledged there was a problem, now that he could no longer pretend that his relationship with Christian was OK, he was absolutely determined to fight for it. As Christian showered, Syed reached for the laptop. It was desperate, but it was all he had. He went to Google and typed 'finding ways to forgive' into the search box.

By the time Christian emerged, Syed had had his fill of pseudo-religious new-age hyperbole about the importance of forgiveness in today's blame-riddled self-centred want-driven society. But amongst the smug preachings and patronising cliches, there had been a few crumbs of genuine insight, just enough to spark an idea.

'Oi! At least wait until I'm out of the house before you start looking at porn!'

Syed rolled his eyes. 'I was actually looking to see if there's anything on here can help us.'

'You are kidding? Have you been talking to Tamwar? Tell me you didn't put 'save my relationship' into Google.'

Syed blushed, but powered on through. 'Well, sort of. And you're right, most of it was total rubbish. But I did find something. Something that gave me an idea.'

Christian froze, and Syed sensed it.

'It's not counselling is it? Because, as you well know, not everyone online is legit...'

And now Syed understood the enormity of what they were facing. They really had swept too much under the carpet for too long.

He put as much reassurance into his voice as possible. 'No. Nothing like that. Never again, I promise.'

Christian released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and continued getting dressed.

'So what's your big idea then?'

'Well, it's a bit out there. A bit... alternative.'

'I don't think you running naked round the square is going to help, Sy, but if you insist...'

'Ha ha. No, it's nothing like that. It's just the two of us, at home. But if we do it, we have to do it properly, you have to take it seriously. I'm just worried that if you don't then it'll end up making things worse. I'll get angry that you didn't try and you'll get angry that I made you do it and we'll have another row and...'

'Hey, hey. Shhhh.' Christian stopped tying his trainers and came round the bed to where Syed was sitting. He knelt down on the floor next to him and took his hand. The last time Christian had knelt in front of him like that had been the happiest day of his life. It seemed so long ago. 'Whatever it is, I will take it seriously, I promise. You're not making me do anything. I want this... us... to work as much as you do.'

'OK. Well, we can do it tonight, if you haven't got anything else planned.'

'I had said I'd go for a drink with Rox...'

'Oh.' And there was that anger again. Christian saw it and resented it. But he bit his tongue and continued.

'...but this is more important, so I'll cancel. Is there anything I need to do?'

'No. Just come home.' A voice in Syed's head whispered 'unlike last time' and he secretly hated himself for it. Would this stupid internet-inspired parlour game really be able to silence the voices that were tearing them apart?

'Now that I can manage. See ya later.'

'See ya.'

As Christian headed towards the door, Syed closed the laptop and swung his legs out of the bed. He longed to throw his arms around Christian, tell him everything was OK, that love was enough. But it wasn't. He felt panic rise as the bedroom door began to close and he was left alone.

'Christian?'

Relief flooded him as Christian stuck his head back round the door. 'Yeah, babe?'

'I'd run naked round the square a hundred times if I thought it would make things OK again.'

'I know.'

And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Syed sat alone in the flat, absent-mindedly chewing on a fingernail as he went over everything again in his head. He tried to push the doubts and fears aside, focusing instead on getting it clear in his mind, trying to anticipate Christian's questions and prepare the answers. He glanced at the clock - any minute now.

As he approached the flat, Christian felt nervous. Not because he feared whatever it was Syed was planning, but because he knew what was at stake. If this didn't work, it would be yet another nail in the coffin of their relationship. But doing nothing was no longer an option. While they were both trying, there was still hope.

'Hiya.'

'Hey. How was your day?'

'Yeah, good. Yours?'

'Fine. Quiet. But, y'know, weekday lunchtimes are never that busy.'

'Sure.'

There was an awkward pause, both of them circling the elephant in the room. Christian noticed the foreign objects on the coffee table.

Trying really hard to sound mildly curious rather than deeply skeptical, he asked as casually as possible, 'Are we going to play Pictionary?'

He was relieved when Syed laughed. 'God no! If it was that easy to save a relationship then Pictionary sales would be through the roof! Besides, the last time we played you ended up in a sulk because I said you were rubbish at drawing.'

'I think you'll find it was you who was rubbish at guessing!'

'You need to give me something to go on! It's a special talent to make a pair of scissors look exactly like a monkey.'

'Just one of my many talents. Making up was fun, though.'

'True. No lack of imagination there.'

They grinned at each other, both relieved that the tension was broken.

'OK Clarkey. Go and get out of those smelly gym clothes. Are you hungry? I wasn't sure if you'd want to have something to eat before or wait 'til... later.'

And there was that elephant again.

'As I don't have a clue what you've got planned, Sy, it's really difficult to say.'

'Well, I don't want to say anything until I can explain it properly. But it's just us, here in the flat, and we can stop at any time.'

'In that case, let's wait 'til later. In all honesty, I'm a bit too nervous for food right now.'

Syed reached out and their fingers met, squeezing tight, seeking reassurance.

'Me too. But that's good right? Means it's important. Means we both want it to work.'

'Yeah.'

Christian took a deep breath.

'Right then. I'll have a quick shower, get changed and we can get started.'

A quick peck on the lips, and their hands fell apart as Christian headed to the bathroom. Was he imagining it, or was something already different? The heaviness on his heart had lifted just the tiniest fraction; he was no longer just nervous about whatever Syed had planned, he was excited too. At last, hope was breaking through the dark clouds of his despair. This was going to work. It had to. And if it didn't, then they'd keep trying until it did because there was no way he was ever going to give up fighting for that amazing man waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door.

Syed lay on the bed, hands under his head, listening to the familiar sound of cascading water mixed with show tunes. He smiled to himself at the thought of Christian being prepared to play Pictionary to save their relationship. Perhaps if this didn't work they could try Ludo, he mused. Or Trivial Pursuit. Or Happy Families. The word struck him - family. Because that's what he and Christian were. If he could forgive his mother and father for the terrible things they had said and done, then he could certainly learn to forgive Christian. This was going to work. It had to. Because there was no way he was letting Christian go. Ever. He would fight to the death for his family, and he would never give up on them, and that included Christian. The sound of falling water stopped, but the show tunes continued. 'Here goes', he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

They sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other over the coffee table.

'OK, so here's what we do. We've each got three pieces of paper. You have to write something that's bothering you on each one. Something you're annoyed about or angry about, or confused about. It can be something big or something really small.'

'About you?'

'About me, or our relationship.'

Christian's eyebrows shot up in mock astonishment. 'Just three?'

Syed rolled his eyes. 'Yes, just three. To start with. But once we've finished with those, we can do more, if we think it's helping. So start with the most important.'

'And then what?'

'Well, then we fold them up and put them in the bowl. Then we agree a time when we'll take one out and talk about whatever is written on it.'

Christian looked unconvinced. 'And that's it? That's your magic solution?'

Syed snapped with exasperation. 'I never said it was magic. I just said it was worth trying. It certainly won't work if you decide it'll fail before we even start.'

'I haven't babe, I promise. It just seems... too easy. We talk about stuff all the time - why is writing things on bits of paper and putting them in a bowl going to be any different?'

'Because it means we control what we talk about and when. Instead of rowing about things when they've just happened and you're both riled up and angry, you talk about them when you're both calm, have set aside time and are in a more receptive frame of mind.'

'That makes sense I guess.'

'Yeah. No throwing insults in the heat of the moment just to score points. And it helps you focus on one thing, the thing on the paper, without dragging up other stuff and everything escalating and getting out of control.'

'That's got to be a good thing.'

They held each other's gaze. Neither was sure if the other was making a roundabout apology or having a dig. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

'So that's it, then? We put all these things into a bowl and at, say, 6pm next Tuesday we take one out and talk about it. And that'll make everything OK?'

'Maybe. Maybe not. But I think it's worth a try. The website had lots of comments from people who'd tried it and said it worked for them.'

'I don't know, Sy. It all seems a bit...'

'New age?'

'Clinical. The thing is, you and me, we're great at having rows - we need them. It's a sign of passion.'

'Definitely. We're also pretty good at making up...' Syed threw a lusty smirk at Christian, who returned one of his own.

'Uh-huh. And we talk all the time, about all kinds of stuff - food, music, religion. I dunno, doing it this way, it's a bit, well, cold, unfeeling. Is it really gonna help to be dragging something up for some long drawn-out D&M when we've already dealt with it and moved on.'

'But that's exactly the point. We haven't dealt with them. You're right, we do talk all the time, about all sorts of things, but what we almost never talk about when we're NOT having an argument are the things we've actually rowed about.'

'Like what?'

Syed took a deep breath. 'OK, like that vile thing I said about you checking out the junior squad.'

There was a distinct tensing of Christian's jaw as he looked down and muttered, 'I know you didn't really mean that.'

'Do you? How do you know? Because we kissed and made up? Because we've both said we're sorry? Sorry for what? We've both apologised for 'everything' and 'the things I said' but neither of us has actually specified what we're sorry about. Am I sorry for thinking those things? For saying them? For using them to hurt you? I'm pretending you've forgotten it and you're pretending I've forgotten it, but actually it's still there, sitting and waiting under the surface. And next time we have an argument one of us will bring it out and use it to hurt the other. It hasn't really been forgotten, and we haven't actually talked about it at all. Not properly.'

There was silence while Christian processed what Syed had said. The narrative he had in his head about their relationship had always been 'we row, we make up, we talk about everything' but he was beginning to accept that 'we row, we pretend to make up, we avoid talking about the really important stuff' was perhaps nearer to the truth. Syed could see the concern casting a shadow over Christian's face.

'It's OK,' he insisted, 'we can fix it.'

'Can we? Really?' Christian suddenly felt so unsure, so lost.

But Syed remained steadfast and determined. 'Yes. We can, and we will. We've started already. The whole point is we need to talk about the big stuff, not sweep it under the carpet any more. Spring clean, remember? So we raise issues one at a time, picked at random, and give ourselves space to discuss them properly.'

'So what happens if we spend all night talking and talking and talking and still nothing changes?'

'We set a time limit on the discussion. Once the time's up, if the person who wrote it still thinks it's a problem, then it goes back into the bowl. Eventually it'll get picked out again, and we'll talk about it some more. Even if it stays in the bowl forever, it still means that we've acknowledged the problem and discuss it regularly, which has got to be a good thing, right?'

'Sy, I'm just really worried that we'll end up talking our relationship to death.'

'I know what you mean, but not talking isn't working and we need to try something a bit different. And I know you haven't had much time to get your head around the idea, but I've been thinking about it all day and I honestly think it could help. Plus I haven't told you the best bit yet.'

'There's a best bit?'

'Yep. That's where the matches come in.'

'Now I'm really worried. For god's sake don't go near the Queen Vic or the B&B with those.'

'Not funny.'

'I know. Sorry. Go on.'

'Well, once we've talked about something and the person who wrote it can honestly say that they're OK with it, that it's no longer a problem, then we burn the paper. A kind of symbolic forgiveness ritual.'

'Fabulous. Can we play Disco Inferno while we do it?'

'If you really must.'

They looked intently at each other over the coffee table. Syed knew that this was much more his kind of thing than Christian's. He moved more easily in a world of ritual and control, whereas Christian's was a world of spontaneity and freedom. Had he said enough to convince him this was worth a try? Christian didn't feel completely comfortable with the idea, but he didn't have a better plan, and he could see how much Syed wanted to try this. Rejecting it without an alternative suggestion would effectively mean giving up on saving the relationship. And he could see that there were things they had avoided talking about - big, painful things. This could be a way to force some difficult but necessary conversations into the open.

'OK.'

'OK what? You'll do it?'

'OK, yes, let's do it. I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure about it, but if you're prepared to run naked round the Square, then I'm sure I can give this a go.'

Syed's hand reached out across the table. It was met half way by Christian's.

'Thank you.'

'I've just got one more question.'

'Go on.'

'What about the heart-shaped post-it notes? Are those part of this too, or is Amy coming over later?'

'No, they are part of this as well. These are for the best bit.'

'You said the burning was the best bit.'

'Well, I'd forgotten about this. This is even better. It's not off the internet, I made it up, but I think you'll like it. Every time we take out something from the bowl and talk about it, whether we've dealt with it and burnt it or put it back in the bowl for another time, we finish by writing something we love about each other on a post it note. And then we stick them somewhere we can always see them, so that we're constantly reminded of why we're trying and why it's worth it.'

Christian grinned. 'Syed Masood, are you turning all camp and sentimental? I'll get you down the club in a vest top yet!'

'Don't push it, Clarkey. I'd do a lot of things for you, but I won't do that!'

'And now he's quoting Meatloaf. I'm so proud.'

'Shut up!'

They sat grinning at each other, but the stationery scattered on the table between them refused to be ignored. Christian took a deep breath.

'OK. So, to recap, I write down on a piece of paper like this', Christian brandished one or the small sheets, 'that your taste in underwear really offends me. At some point in the future, we agree to talk and the paper will get chosen from the bowl. After we've spent ages discussing your terrible pants and I've finally persuaded you that you should always go commando, we burn the paper, along with the entire contents of your underwear drawer. I then write on a post it note', he brandished the heart-shaped block, 'what a great arse you have, you write down what a great kisser I am and then we head to the bedroom to prove each other correct.'

Syed smirked and shook his head. 'Something like that, yeah.'

'OK, I'm game. Let's do it.'

'You sure?'

'I'm sure.'

Each picked up a pen and Syed started to write. However, after staring thoughtfully at the blank paper for a few moments, Christian's forehead contracted once again.

'Sy, what if it's too painful, too big? Once it's out there, we won't be able to ignore it. What if we can't solve it? What if...'

'What if this breaks us?'

Christian nodded. 'What if we say something we can't take back? What if something comes out that we can't forgive?'

'It's a risk. But I figure it's all going around in our heads anyway. If we don't put it out there, talk about it, then we're just pretending and there isn't really a relationship to save.'

'What if I'd rather have a pretend relationship with you that a real one with anyone else?'

Syed reached out and tenderly stroked Christian's cheek. 'I love you for saying that, but you know it's not true. Neither of us is good at pretending, which is why we're resorting to internet-inspired hippy tricks to get us back on track. If we've got something worth saving, then no stupid piece of paper is going to spoil it. Underneath everything, I love you, and you love me, and nothing's ever going to change that.'

Christian smiled fondly at the memory of when he had said the same words to Syed for the first time. It felt like a lifetime ago, but also like it was yesterday. He placed his hand over Syed's. 'Never.'

'So, total brutal honesty.'

'Total brutal honesty.'

Christian took a deep breath and began to write.


	7. Chapter 7

The bowl sat on the shelf. Waiting. Watching. Sitting quietly as Syed and Christian went about their daily lives. It didn't move. It didn't make a sound. But somehow, as they searched for their keys, as they put the groceries away, as they prepared the dinner or flopped on the sofa, it made its presence felt. A still, silent reminder that soon things would have to be talked about. Soon, its secrets would be revealed. But for now, it just sat. Sat and waited.

Christian had to admit it. Things were going better. The process of writing down what he was angry about had been both surprisingly simple and agonisingly difficult. The three things that were bothering him came disconcertingly easily - clearly things weren't buried as deeply as he'd thought. The hard bit had been committing them to paper, knowing that they would eventually have to be revealed and discussed, and worrying what the consequences might be. But after wrestling with the pros and cons, he'd remembered one of Syed's pet names for him - Mr One Hundred Percent. It was all or nothing - there was no point doing this at all if he wasn't going to be completely honest. He looked up at Syed, his thick, dark curls obscuring a forehead furrowed in concentration. Nothing wasn't an option - he'd give everything, and more, to spend his life with Syed. The pen he was holding formed the words on the paper. He took a final glance at each before carefully folding them up and dropping them into the bowl. No going back now.

And since then, although he felt a strange kind of constant low-level concern about the words lying in wait in the corner of the room, Christian was surprised to discover that a lot of the anger he felt had already dissipated. It was as if the things that had been bothering him were no longer in his head, but extracted and parked in the bowl. Instead of a dark presence, carried with him wherever he went, growling and snarling and undermining every happy thought, his resentment towards Syed had been transferred onto three small pieces of paper and left in a corner of the flat. Not gone, but not his constant companion either.

Syed had also noticed the change. They were much more relaxed with each other, much less careful. Syed's morning grumpiness had reappeared, Christian had stayed out late one night and come back annoyingly tipsy. Normal life was creeping back in, sex had become loving and playful once again, and the dark clouds that had been dogging them had begun to lift.

Syed found himself mulling over the words he'd written. The process of transforming the nebulous cloud of emotions he was feeling into concrete language had helped him clarify and bring into focus exactly what was bothering him. He'd spent weeks trying to push away the negative thoughts, trying to deny them or ignore them, but now he found himself dwelling on them, analysing them, interrogating them, attempting to determine what Christian would have to say or do in order for him to be able relegate them to ashes.

The presence of the small bowl, resting patiently on the shelf, was never completely forgotten. Both found their eyes subconsciously drawn to it - while the kettle boiled, when the other went to the toilet, after buzzing someone into the flat. It lay and waited, protecting its secrets until the appointed time.

And finally the day arrived. As Syed kissed Christian goodbye that morning, he couldn't help saying, 'Don't forget...', and then cursed himself inwardly for bringing it up.

'I won't.' replied Christian a little too sharply, prickled that Syed felt the need to remind him. 'See you later.' And with that, they parted for the day.

Dinner that evening was a tense affair. Both were on edge and neither had much of an appetite. They made small talk while pushing food about on their plates and stealing surreptitious glances at the time. The minutes crept relentlessly onwards towards the agreed hour of 8pm.

At 7.45pm they did the washing up, Christian washing, Syed drying, in an edgy silence occasionally broken by 'can you pass me that' or 'cheers' or 'you missed a bit'.

By 7.55pm everything was cleaned and put away. With nothing else to distract them, they turned to face each other. An awkward pause. Christian broke deadlock by reaching out his hand towards Syed.

'Shall we do this then?'

Syed accepted the hand and squeezed hard, suddenly desperate for warmth and reassurance.

'I guess so.'

Syed was faltering and Christian sensed his hesitation.

'Come 'ere.' he murmured, and gave the hand a gentle tug, pulling Syed into his arms. Christian felt him melt into the embrace and they rocked gently together.

'I love you.' Syed whispered into Christian's ear.

'I love you too.' Christian whispered back.

They pulled apart just far enough to press their lips together, eyes closed, finding sanctuary in the familiarity and tenderness.

'Right, come on you.' Christian coaxed, taking the lead and guiding Syed by the hand to the sofa, reaching over to pick up the bowl, then sitting down and placing the bowl on the cushion between them.

'Do you want to pick?' he asked.

'Yeah, OK.' Syed looked anxiously at the bowl as if it was a land mine about to be triggered. 'No, you do it.'

'Sure?'

'Yep. You pick one, I'll open it.'

'OK, here goes.'

And, deliberately blocking out the significance of what he was doing, Christian reached decisively into the bowl and closed his fingers round the first piece of paper they touched. He held it out towards Syed.

Syed looked at it with trepidation. One small piece of paper - did the words written on it really have the power to make or break their relationship? Would the discussion that followed bring them closer or force them further apart? He ran through the three he'd written - which one did he hope it would be? All his rehearsed explanations suddenly seemed to slip out of reach. What if Christian didn't understand? What if all it did was hurt him? Or perhaps it was one of Christian's. In an effort to prepare himself Syed started to imagine all the worst things Christian could have written about him. He started to wonder why Christian was with him at all. Was it too late to throw all the papers away and forget the whole stupid idea? Was it all just too late?

'Sy?'

He was startled out of his reverie.

'Sorry. I just...'

'I know.' Christian took his hand again. 'Do you want me to do it?'

'No. It's OK. I can do it.'

Syed took a deep breath and unfolded the slip.


	8. Chapter 8

Syed stared silently at the sentence in his hand. Without realising he was doing it, he removed his fingers from Christian's and coiled his arm protectively around his own waist instead.

'Sy? Syed? What does it say? It is one of yours or one of mine?'

'Yours.' His body tensed, becoming armour. Christian could see him putting up his defences, withdrawing into himself, preparing for battle.

Christian ran through the three he'd written in his head. Fuck, why had he agreed to do this?

'It says: You always hide things.'

'Ah, OK, that one.'

Yeah, that one. Care to expand on what you meant?'

'Well, I think it's fairly obvious, don't you?'

'I've got a pretty good idea, but just for clarity, why don't you put it all out there. Make sure there are no misunderstandings.' Syed was bristling, which made Christian bristle in response.

'Fine. But just remember this was your idea. Let's start with the obvious one - hiding the fact that you're gay - which I thought we'd finally got past when you moved in, but no. The minute Amira's back on the scene you can't wait to start being the dutiful husband-and-father, playing it straight for all the world to see.'

'That is really unfair...'.

Now the floodgates were open Christian wasn't about to let them close. 'Oh, so you're not going to listen then? I thought you asked me to explain what I wrote. But maybe I've misunderstood how this works?'

Syed glowered and folded his arms, but muttered reluctantly, 'Fine. Carry on.'

'Then there's Yasmin. Even before she was born you hid the fact that Amira was pregnant from me, then the fact that she wasn't pregnant. Perhaps you knew all along that she was after all. For all I know that's why you were so reluctant to adopt and so keen to track Amira down. And when she did eventually rock up with Yasmin it took about five seconds for you to start sneaking around seeing them behind my back.'

'Are you finished now?'

'Hell no. While we're on the subject of kids, you even hid your own feelings from me, pretending to my face that you wanted to adopt or go through surrogacy, when all the time you had massive doubts. Maybe because you knew deep down that having a second-hand kid with me could never compare to having your own proper child with Amira.'

'No! Stop right there. I don't care what else you're going to drag up, but I am not having you think like this for one more second. This is bullshit. You can't honestly believe that for over a year I was hiding the fact that I have a daughter from you.'

'How do I know what to believe, Sy? When you constantly hide things from me, it's hard not to wonder what else I don't know. I'm always bracing myself, waiting for the next deception to be revealed.'

Syed was horrified. He always thought of Christian as so solid, so sure, but here was his underlying insecurity, raw and exposed. No wonder he was finding it hard to move on if underneath it all he was waiting for the next secret to surface, the next lie to be revealed.

'Christian look at me. Look at me. There is nothing, NOTHING, that you don't know. You know Yasmin came as a complete shock to me - you were there. Remember that day in the Vic, you saw her picture seconds after I did, I was in total shock. There is no way I would ever, could ever, hide anything that big from you.'

Syed reached out and held Christian's face firmly in both hands. 'Tell me you believe that.' he demanded. 'Say it. Tell me you know I didn't hide Yasmin from you, not for a single second.'

Seeing the horror and concern in Syed's face, Christian anger dissipated and his defences crumbled. He reached out a hand to Syed's cheek and stroked his thumb softly across Syed's lips. 'Of course I know that. I'm sorry, I'm being an idiot.'

Syed smiled. A small, sad smile, but a smile nevertheless. 'No you're not. You're just saying what's been going round in your head, and I'm glad you are, because it gives me the chance to tell you how wrong it is. I never hid Yasmin from you, not even when I first found out Amira was pregnant. As soon as I could get away I came round to see you, to tell you.'

'Your dad managed to find time to give me the good news.'

'Yeah, because he didn't have Amira clinging onto his arm, not letting him out of her sight. Should I have sent you a text? Come round with Amira? I wanted to tell you myself, in person, and as soon as there was a chance to get away I came straight round.'

'I know. I do, it's just...'

'And I couldn't tell you she wasn't pregnant because, in case you've forgotten, just after she told me, you told her about us, and things went a bit crazy. And after that day, after she left, I never, ever suspected for a minute that she really was pregnant after all. I had absolutely no contact with her until the day she turned up at our engagement party. And you know that's true. You know it! So where the hell is all this coming from?'

Christian stood up, finding relief in moving his muscles and not looking at Syed. Rubbing his hand across his eyes he tried to think. Syed was right, he did know all this. Why was he saying it?

'I don't know, Sy. I guess it's hard to remember all that when I know you were seeing her behind my back. Playing happy families and leaving me out.'

'That's not what I was doing. At all.'

'So go on then, explain it to me. What exactly were you doing when you explicitly said you wouldn't see Yasmin without me, then snuck out without telling me to see her.'

'I was playing the long game.'

'And how is lying to me and leaving me out playing the long game?'

'Because to get access to Yasmin, proper access - for BOTH of us - meant getting Amira on side. And she hated your guts, wouldn't listen when you were there. So to get her to listen, I had to get her on her own. Not to keep Yasmin away from you, but to work towards getting her closer, talking Amira round so she would let Yasmin spend time with you, with us.'

'By flirting and giggling and flattering your ex-wife into believing the three of you could be a proper family?'

'No! By convincing her that you didn't turn me gay and steal me away from her. By showing her that I love her and respect her but that our marriage would never have worked because of me, not you. By telling her that you're a non-negotiable part of my life. And by giving her time to take it all in and get to a place where she would be happy to let you be in the same room as our daughter.

'And you couldn't have talked to me about this?'

'You know what would have happened if I had. In fact, exactly what did happen when you found out. You'd go storming in there, all guns blazing, confronting her, turning it into you versus her and pushing our daughter further away.'

'You really think that little of me? That I'm totally incapable of acting in a rational manner? Has it ever occurred to you that if you'd been open about I wouldn't have got so worked up? For your information I was keeping quiet. I was waiting for you to tell me. It was Roxy who dragged me there and made a scene.'

Christian's eye caught the small scrap of paper that had started everything, discarded on the floor. He picked it up and waved it accusingly in Syed's face. 'And since when did this become about me? We're meant to be talking about you. You, and your natural inclination to lie to everyone around you.'

Syed had been really struggling to keep his temper, but the small, crumpled piece of paper reminded him why they were doing this. Forcing his thumping heart to quieten, he pushed himself slowly to his feet and stood facing Christian. He calmly, gently, wrapped his fingers around the angry fist in which Christian was brandishing the paper.

'Christian, I don't like lying. Especially to you. It goes against everything I believe in. I hated having to see Amira and Yas behind your back, but I genuinely thought that dealing with it quietly, by myself would make you happier sooner. You say that I hide things. But this is the first, and the only, thing I have ever hidden from you. And I did it FOR you. If you knew, you would have interfered. If you had interfered it would have taken longer. There was never any question of you being excluded. Most of the time I was with them I was talking about you, telling Yas about you and trying to persuade Amira to let you be a part of her life.'

By now their conjoined hands had fallen, hanging loosely, fingers knotted, the scrap of paper forgotten on the floor once more. Christian could feel long-held resentments cracking and crumbling. 'You talked to Yas about me?'

'Of course I did. I honestly can't remember a single conversation between me and Amira that didn't include the sentences 'I'm gay' and 'I love Christian' and 'If you want me to be part of Yasmin's life then Christian will have to be part of it too'.

They stood, relishing the temporary ceasefire and remembering that, despite all the issues they continued to struggle with, they were living one life. Together. Because they loved each other.

Syed spoke first.

'So do you believe me?'

'Yes. I do. I still don't like it, but I get that you were trying to do the right thing.'

'And that's everything?'

Christian's forehead contracted.

'Not quite.'

Syed's face fell. 'There's more?'

'Sorry. But we're supposed to be sorting this stuff out, and if I don't say it...'

'No, you're right. If we're going to do this, then we have to do it properly. Cup of tea for round two?'

Christian gave a reassuring smile. 'Yeah, sounds good.'

Syed headed to the kitchen, keeping hold of Christian's hand and not letting go until just the tips of their fingers were touching.

By the time he returned with the tea, they'd each had time to reflect a little on the discussion so far. Syed felt confident that it was helping, that at the very least a few misunderstandings had been cleared up, while Christian had got it a bit clearer in his head what he still needed to say. Syed passed a steaming mug to Christian and sat down next to him on the sofa.

'So, go on then, Clarkey. Ding ding. Round two. Take your best shot.'


	9. Chapter 9

'I think the problem is, Sy, is that it's not just about lying to me, hiding things from me. It's everything, everyone. Perhaps I'm worried that if you can lie to other people, then you can lie to me. And you seeing Yasmin behind my back proved it.'

'But I'm not lying to anyone. I'm not hiding anything from anyone.'

'You lied to your parents when I sold my shares in Masala Queen.'

'That was business. That's totally different. Besides, I did it for you and I told you about it straight after.'

'And there was all that stuff with Roxy's client list.'

'Again, business. And I told you I was up to something - I just didn't tell you what, because it was work. And when you did figure it out, you didn't tell her either.'

'OK then, putting your wedding ring back on to meet investors. That's not just business. That's hiding who you really are, to everyone you meet.'

'Well, it was business. And, technically, it wasn't a lie - I was still married to Amira at the time.'

'It's more than that and you know it. Can you imagine how much that hurt? To come back and find you running a family business with your wife. It was as if our relationship, everything we'd been to each other, hadn't even happened. Like being with me had been some kind of temporary aberration and that your life was finally back to normal.'

'Can you imagine how much it hurt to have you walk out on me, on us, like that? How much of a mess I was in? I didn't know you were coming back - if you were ever coming back. I threw myself into that business not because you weren't important, but because you were everything to me, and when you left it was the only thing I had to focus on, to stop me falling apart. I thought that with you gone I may as well stay married to Amira and move to Pakistan, because I knew I would never want to be with anyone else. You're it for me, Christian Clarke. But no matter how many times I tell you that, you still don't seem to get it.'

Christian's hardened face softened for a moment, but he fought the desire to throw his arms around Syed, and reminded himself that it all had to come out, now or never.

'If that's true, then what about when you came out of hospital and your mum started speaking to you again. You deliberately only invited your mum round to the flat when I was out, like you were ashamed of me. Of us.'

'Oh come on! You think I was hiding our relationship from her, by inviting her round to our flat, with your naked man art on every wall and our massive, king-sized bed taking up most of the room? If I'd wanted to hide anything I certainly wouldn't have taken her there. I know you might find this difficult to accept, but just for once, Christian, it wasn't about you. It was about me. Me and her. My mother getting to know me again, starting to accept me as a gay man. Showing her just how happy I was. With you.'

'OK then. What about you not telling me you didn't want kids with me. Meeting with social workers, looking at houses, reading leaflets on surrogacy and all the time you had no intention of going through with it.'

'You know that's not true. There was never a point I didn't want kids. But I did have doubts, and I did tell you, eventually. I didn't speak up sooner because I knew it would hurt you, and I didn't want to hurt you unless I was certain. But you were pushing ahead so fast I had to say something before I really knew what I was feeling. So then there was shouting and ultimatums and my mum and Roxy and Janine and somewhere in all that I figured out that I did want kids after all. But I certainly wasn't hiding anything or lying to you. It could all have been sorted out with a lot less drama if you'd discussed things more, listened to me a bit more, rather than storming ahead making decisions without me, as usual.'

'So it's my fault, or your mum's fault, or Amira's fault or Roxy's fault or it's "just business". It's never about you, is it? The excuses are different, Sy, but the dishonesty is the same, every time.'

'Not excuses, Christian - reasons. And don't go pretending you're any different. It's not like you've never hidden anything. I just don't store it all up to beat you with all the time.'

'Like what?'

'Like the fact that Ben tried it on with you.'

'That's because it was nothing. You can't compare me not embarrassing a mixed-up teenager to you lying to investors about your sexuality.'

'No, you can't Christian. Because one led to me getting finance for my business and the other led to our flat getting smashed up with a baseball bat.'

'That was NOT my fault. You can't hold me responsible for Ben's nutjob of a father. It was a one-off set of circumstances that will never happen again.'

'So was me making contact with my mum after coming out. So was Amira turning up with Yasmin. The point I'm making is that I haven't done the same thing again and again, I've done different things for different reasons. Just like you not mentioning that Ben fancied you. Like you using my phone to trick my mum into talking to you. Like you DNA testing my daughter behind my back. Each one was a separate situation and you lumping everything together as me 'hiding things' is unfair and untrue and I could level exactly the same accusation at you. I'm no more likely to hide things than you are.'

They sat, clutching their mugs of half-drunk, luke-warm tea with both hands, looking intently at each other. Syed felt that they were making progress, but he could tell that it wasn't finished, that Christian was holding something back. Something really big. But if it was so big, why couldn't he see it? He put his mug down on the coffee table, then gently took Christian's mug and placed it there too. Wrapping his hands around Christian's now empty fingers, he looked Christian straight in the eye, speaking slowly and forcibly, determined to make Christian feel the truth in every word.

'Christian, I am sorry that I didn't tell you I was seeing Amira, I really am. But I was doing it for us, and even if Roxy hadn't interfered I honestly would have told you myself when I got home that evening. I am sorry that my business plans with Amira hurt you, but we weren't together at the time and I was in a mess because you'd walked out. The only people I ever lied to about my marriage were investors. Yes, sometimes I am dishonest at work, but that's business - I won't apologise for it and I'm not going to change, but it's got nothing to do with you and me. To Amira, to my parents and to anyone else who asked I've only ever told the truth: that I am gay, and that I love you. It is true that sometimes I'm not very good at saying what I'm thinking or feeling, but if you ask me and listen to me then I will tell you. Which is why you have to say it now.'

'Say what?'

'What this is really all about. Because there's something else, isn't there? Something you're too scared to say. But it's sitting in your head and getting between us. Whatever it is we can deal with it together, but you have to tell me what it is.'

Christian looked down at their four hands clasped tightly together. He felt the heat of Syed's skin where it touched his and was reminded of other times when their hands coming together had brought him reassurance and given him strength. Syed's fingers reaching for his in the middle of a crowded pub, confirming with a gesture what Christian had expressed in words; a defiant hand hold in the street, open and proud despite the disapproving glares from Syed's parents; the joy with which he had knelt in a tiny kitchen and taken Syed's hand to ask that question which would bind their lives together for good. Looking at their hands now, he wasn't sure which fingers were his and which were Syed's. They would deal with this together. And so he said it.

'One day you'll do to me what you did to Amira.'


	10. Chapter 10

Syed sat stunned, mouth slightly open, tears pricking his eyes, as if he'd just been slapped. After a minute of trying to pull his thoughts together, all he could muster was a dazed, 'Why would you think that?'

And suddenly, for the first time, Christian saw with complete clarity what they'd been skirting around all this time. And he was scared. Really scared. Because he couldn't see a way past it, but it was too late to take it back. The only option was to plough steadfastly onwards, trying to suppress the voice inside his head that whispered 'it's over'. Without realising that he was doing it, Christian untangled his fingers from around Syed's and crossed his arms defensively, withdrawing into himself.

'Why wouldn't I?'

'But I hate what I did to Amira - I hated it at the time and will always be ashamed of it. You know that. But I wasn't ready to accept that I was gay. Now everything's out in the open and I'm with the person I love,' he reached a hand out towards Christian's, 'there's no need for me to ever, ever, do that again.'

Christian pulled his hand away and his heart ached at the pain and confusion that clouded Syed's face. He felt nausea at what he was about to do, the voice in his head growing louder and more insistent. He braced himself to deliver the final blow.

'Really, Sy? Are you sure that's true? Whatever else was going on, no one forced you to be with Amira. That was your choice. You wanted to make a life with her, but you were still cheating on her, and doing a damn good job of pulling the wool over her eyes. For months I had to watch you with her - smiling, laughing, holding her hand, showing her off, playing the doting fiancee. I was the only one who didn't fall for the act, because I knew that half an hour earlier you'd been in my bed texting her the latest excuse. It doesn't matter why you did it. The point is that whatever we do, however much we love each other, it'll never be enough. I'll never be able to trust you, because I witnessed first hand what a convincing liar you are. How can I ever be sure you're not fooling me like you fooled her?'

Syed laughed. An empty laugh edged with bitterness and disbelief. Christian wasn't sure what reaction he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. He'd as good as said they were over, and Syed was laughing? Christian's mood blackened.

'It's not funny, Sy.'

'No, you're right. It's not funny. Not funny at all. But you can't expect me to take it seriously. I'm a convincing liar? You must be kidding. No one was fooled for a second.'

Christian felt his anger rising. An anger fuelled by frustration and hurt and long buried memories that were flooding back with surprisingly painful clarity. Leaping to his feet and stabbing the air aggressively with his index finger, time-hardened resentments boiled over and spilled out unchecked.

'That girl loved you, Sy. She loved you and you broke her heart. You made her believe that you wanted her, while all the time you were seeing me behind her back. You married her, made vows to her, knowing that you were gay and loved someone else. Not fooled? She built a life on a pack of lies, and it destroyed her when she found out. I am not going to let you do that to me.'

Syed fought hard to stay calm, realising for the first time the full extent of the scar tissue left by those early wounds. But he knew Christian was wrong. He just had to find the right words, and make sure Christian heard them.

'Christian, you have to calm down. You need to listen, really listen, to everything I'm about to say, because there is something very important you have to understand. Amira knew. Long before you told her. She knew. She always knew. I didn't deceive her at all.'

Syed saw instantly that those had not been the right words. Rather than calming down, Christian had become an enraged bull, Syed's words like a red cape, antagonising him into a furious attack. He strode across the room and back, knocking into the coffee table on the way, cups and pens clattering. He loomed over Syed, fire in his eyes.

'That is bullshit!' he spat. 'You didn't deceive her?' He punctuated his points by counting them out on shaking fingers. 'You told her you loved her. You asked her to marry you. You persuaded her father to give you his blessing. You slept with her. You even managed to get her pregnant. And you're telling me she accidentally got the wrong end of the stick? That it was all some terrible misunderstanding in which you played no part? I spent months tying myself in knots because you asked me to keep quiet. You begged me not to say anything, pleaded with me on your wedding day not to tell her the truth. She came to me, desperate and confused, because you wouldn't tell her why her marriage was falling apart. And when I finally forced you to tell her the truth, she became so hysterical you wanted to call an ambulance. You didn't deceive her? You did nothing but! How dare you deny it!'

Syed had never seen Christian so close to losing control. He stood up, but stayed at arm's length, not wanting to escalate the emotional confrontation into a physical one. Silently pleading with his god to help him, he tried again. 'Please listen, Christian. Really listen to me. I'm not saying that at all. I'm not denying anything.'

'Then you'd better start explaining pretty damn quick. Because I am this close to walking out of here.' His thumb and forefinger hovered millimetres from each other, pinching the air aggressively in front of Syed's eyes.

'OK, OK. I will. But you have to calm down and listen. Of course I lied to her. A lot of the time I was lying to myself as well. But I never really fooled her, any more than I fooled myself. I certainly didn't manage to pull the wool over her eyes with my brilliant talent for deception. The only reason it worked is because she chose to believe my, quite frankly, ridiculous stories. I could never live a lie like that with you because you would never let yourself believe it.'

Christian stood frowning, frame stiff, fists clenched, a hardened stare. But he was no longer lashing out, he was listening, so Syed continued.

'Think about it. How exactly did I manage to dupe her so convincingly? I'll tell you how. By spending as little time with her as possible. By never doing more than holding her hand or giving her a peck on the cheek. Even before we were married she was insecure - once she even said she thought I was going off her. She knew deep down that something wasn't right. After the wedding there was nowhere to hide, but she still went on believing my increasingly lame excuses for avoiding any kind of intimacy. Seriously Christian, you know Amira. She's a pampered princess, a trained beautician, who's spent her whole life looking in the mirror and fending guys off every time she stepped out of the front door. But her husband won't have sex with her, and she jumps to the immediate conclusion that she must be unattractive? She isn't stupid. Or blind. She had to know the problem lay elsewhere, she just didn't want to face it.'

'Of course she blamed herself. She didn't know you were gay.'

Syed noticed with relief that Christian's tactics had changed - from offensive to defensive. He gave a sad smile.

'Didn't she? What straight man never checks out other women? Not even a passing comment on a hot model in a magazine. How many straight Muslim guys have a gay best friend? And even if they did, how many would choose to spend more time with their gay best friend than with their own girlfriend? Who do you think put the idea that you fancied me into my mum's head? Why do you think she was so keen to have you involved in the wedding? Why do you think she hired you to decorate the flat? Why do you think she asked you for relationship advice?

'Because I was her friend.'

'Really? Because the way I remember it is that you had absolutely nothing in common, but Amira somehow latched onto you without any reason or encouragement. She persisted in confiding in you, when she could have talked to Chelsea, mum, Tanya, even Tambo, any one of a dozen other people. But instead she chose you.'

'But it doesn't make sense, Sy. If she knew about us, even subconsciously, why would she want to be my friend? Surely she'd be more inclined to... I dunno... scratch my eyes out, or squirt perfume in my face?'

Black humour. Christian was definitely thawing. And his use of 'Sy' hadn't gone unnoticed either.

'I don't know. I don't think she knew either. Maybe it was to get between us, or to get closer to me through you, or even to try and figure out how she could be more like you. You'd need a good psychologist and years of therapy to untangle it all, but I don't think it's a coincidence that the worse our marriage got, the closer she got to you.'

Christian struggled to make sense of the chaos in his head - memories were changing shape, new connections being made, fragments slotting into place like jigsaw pieces forming an unexpected picture. Sensing Christian's struggle, Syed took a step closer, and cupped Christian's face gently between his hands.

'Christian Clarke, the thing you have to realise is that I am the world's worst liar. Right from the beginning, I've never been able to fool you. Remember when I told you we couldn't shag during Ramamdan? You rumbled me within a day. The bidding for your Masala Queen shares? You knew at a glance I was up to something. How long did it take you to realise I was seeing mum? About two seconds. I'd seen Yasmin maybe twice before you found out. But more importantly than that, every time you've caught me hiding something, you've called me out on it. You haven't once stayed quiet and looked the other way.'

Syed's thumbs made slow, gentle strokes across Christian's cheeks, soothing away fears that had been buried for far too long.

'When I chose Amira, I wanted a facade to hide behind. When I chose you it was because I wanted to live my life openly and honestly. If something isn't right, you say so. You ask questions and you demand answers. You keep me honest, and I love you for it.'

As they kissed, the barbed wire coils round their hearts began to loosen and fall away, old wounds began to heal. As they pulled softly apart, Syed saw the tears of relief in Christian's eyes.

'Hey, no water works, big man! This is all good.'

'Yeah, it is. It's just... I had no idea I was carrying all that around. It must have been there right from the very beginning, from our very first kiss. But now, it's all gone. Well, most of it. I feel...' he struggled to find the right word.

'Free?'

'Yeah... and happy.'

Syed grinned, finding his own happiness in Christian's.

Suddenly a loud and insistent siren filled the flat, causing them both to jump in surprise and for Christian to clap his hands over his ears.

'What the hell is that?' he asked, as he looked around for the source of the alarm.

'Sorry! It's the oven timer.' yelled Syed, as he leapt across to the kitchen and hit at the button, bringing peace to the flat once more. 'I set it earlier - I didn't know it'd be so loud. We were meant to have a two hour time limit on our discussion - I guess time's up.'

Both instinctively glanced towards the sofa where it had started. It felt like a lifetime ago.

'So, what do we do now?' questioned Christian, noticing once again the bowl, matches, pens and post-it notes waiting patiently on the coffee table.

'Well, that's up to you.' Syed retrieved the small piece of paper that lay, discarded, on the floor. 'It says "you always hide things". If that's still a problem for you, then we fold it up and put it back into the bowl, and talk about it again another time. Or, if you can honestly say you can forgive me and put it behind you, then we burn it and move on.'

Syed folded and unfolded the crumpled fragment nervously in his fingers, unable to look at Christian, trying not to hope. He didn't have to hold his breath for long.

'Burn it.'

Syed's looked up with relief.

'You sure?'

'Burn it', he repeated, unwavering, certain, smiling.

Syed wasn't going to waste any more time. Handing the scrap of paper to Christian he grabbed the box of matches and struck one, shielding it tenderly as it blazed into life. Bringing paper and flame together, they stood in solemn silence as the words ignited, curled, blackened and crumbled, the final embers rising briefly into the air, before cooling, falling and turning to dust.

But nobody was there to witness their descent. Christian was already half way to the bedroom, hand clasped around Syed's wrist, pulling him behind as he put up a token resistance.

'We haven't finished the ritual, Christian! We've still got to do the love hearts.'

'We'll do them tomorrow.'

'But they're the best bit.'

'They really aren't.'

'But...'

'Bedroom. Now.'

Syed resisted no longer, and the block of pink, heart-shaped post it notes lay neglected on the table.

Outside in the square a car door slammed, a key turned in the ignition and an engine growled into life. A journey began, destination unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> First published on fanfiction.net in January 2012.


End file.
